sword drawn, sheath discarded

... Okay, to be entirely fair, he supposes he could just... ignore the news when it comes to him, write it off as no longer his problem, and move on with his life. And a year or so ago, he probably would have. It wasn't so long ago that he truly considered these matters not his business anymore. Whether he truly believed what he was saying, or it was merely stubborn denial remains a mystery to this day, and will likely never be resolved at this point, but luckily, it doesn't matter.

Because, upon receiving the worrying updates, the Dan Heng of today returns to the Luofu to investigate. He is no High Elder and has no intention of being one, and that has not changed - but this is still his kind, his people, whom he cares about even if some of them may not care much for him, and they've suffered enough discord and chaos. He does not wish for them to be plunged into tragedy anew.

Things appear to still be relatively calm when he arrives to the Luofu. At the very least, there's no rebellion or uproar happening just yet. For that reason, Dan Heng decides to first make sure the Scalegorge Waterscape is alright, and that the seal is not damaged. Whatever heliobus that possessed the Vidyadhara kid should not have such abilities, but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

And it is at the Waterscape that he runs into a figure too familiar for his liking. He freezes, then frowns lightly at the sight - but he finds that, unlike it would have been in the past, his reaction has calmed down and stabilized. Though the phantom pain of that blade in his chest stings again when he sees him... there is no panic or fury clouding his vision this time. A bit of... alert, at most.

Is this how it's... supposed to feel?

Once again he is here, watching others go about their daily lives whilst he slinks through the shadows and makes his way to the place he knows all too well. Vidyadhara politics never much mattered to him. The name draws a scoff out of him for reasons he chooses not to think about.

He's not yet seen the one has come beneath the unfortunate affliction, but he doubts he can get so close so suddenly.

When so much of his time is spent intentionally avoiding the gazes of others, when eyes rest on him for even a moment too long, he ends up staring back. Hostility brews within his chest and a repeated mantra takes over every sense. Old scars upon his soul blossom onto the surface of his skin, yet in spite of everything, he only stares, following Dan Heng's. His eyes flit to the other's empty hands and for the first time since looking at Dan Heng, he shifts. From arms crossed, to down at his side. It's perhaps the only gesture that can convey his intent. How well he acts on it is another issue entirely.

What's he doing here? Honestly, he doesn't know. He looks away, somewhere past Dan Heng, the waterscape, and even this present moment. "Observing. After the effort that was made here, chaos of this kind can't be allowed. Are you fulfilling a promise?"

Lauma has found herself down by the shore again - a habit that she had indulged in for years. In the middle of the night as a teenager, burdened by her responsibilities, she would slip out of her bed and make her way down to the seashore to be away from the Forstmoon Enclave, from her duties - her people. From everything, really. Now, she has returned to this place of peace and reprise, and like all those other nights, she finds herself standing next to the water, watching the reflection of the moon. Lauma bends down, pressing her finger into the water, and she watches how it ripples against the surface. A tiny disturbance - a moment in time, and those ripples reach outwards until they reduce to nothing and until the waters are still again. Such is life - a series of ripples that eventually die out and leave behind calmness.

Since the night is so calm, the sound of footsteps feel louder than they already are, the subtle crunch of sand a clear sound. Lauma immediately stands upright, turning to face the strange traveller. Ah, someone who is not from Nod Krai, she notes. She does not need to think for her usual smile to make its way to her face, friendly, gentle, soft and easy.

"Hello," she greets. "This is a beautiful place for a stroll, no?"

the cerulean blues that give way to inky blacks at the horizon only to be reflected upon crystalline water broken up by the gentle light of the moon is a sight he is only meant to recount. the letter and its opener when the script has no need for the sharpest of his edges. of hiisi island, his thoughts think it's quite peaceful. perhaps a tad too much so, but he's yet to see much more of it than this shore. it's a learning process, so far resulting in simple recommendations. he recounts as far as he can observe and hopes he's learned the other stellaron hunters well in the short time they've known one another.

happening upon someone halts his steps. it was naïve to think no other would enjoy a sight like this, maybe it's selfish that he hoped no one else might. "it's serene," he replies, keeping his tone light.

if firefly lets herself drift, she's in a different time with different voices crackling through her comms. snow turns to silver carcasses, mountains turns to charred shells. where before she plummeted into a planets atmosphere to be a soldier to replace the fallen, this time she descends as a friend and her caller will not meet that same fate. she fails to find much solace in that fact.

blade does not need her coddling, but worry worms itself under her skin regardless. she's seen him lose himself, watch him slip to depths she can't reach him. part of her wants to hear kafka's ever steady voice affirming her near arrival but that had not been her call to make. yet. for now all she can do is trust all blade needs is a weapon and not a chant.

condensations clouds to a fog at her arrival on the surface as her heels skid into slush, sloshing the wings of a fragmentum beast that became her target landing. belebog's chill cannot reach her through sam's combustion, a feature of the armour she has never found a gripe with. after all it's fyreflies to a flame, not fyreflies to a freeze.

the rhythm of battle is one she knows well, but finding the side of one of her partners as her first priority is a change she will never stop welcoming. if her plummeting from the sky had somehow missed his notice, the shadow cast over him ought to signify her presence.

“ blade. ” whilst she will respect his judgement, in turn he will accept her assistance. “ take a moment. i'll provide cover. ”

the scent of sam's flames see a sigh leaving him. not a moment too late, perhaps sometimes a few early. he pierces through the sky and the first of the fragmentum is allowed the taste of his flames. the loom over his back feels odd to welcome, but who else would he rather have there?

blade turns his head to look up at him and piercing red eyes are slightly wide. a smile doesn't grace his lips nor do words come from his blood-soaked mouth. instead, his gratitude is shown through the kneel he take to rest for a moment. sam's flames are a welcome warmth against the cold frontier-

is he allowed to be grateful for this?

Since she was little, the heavens were always a calming presence, finding solace in it every time. Even now, she seeks it out when the need to clear her head gets too great, or when she just wants to be left to her own devices. And that's exactly what the Foxian was doing this very moment by visiting Aurum Alley. Sitting down on one of the many benches that line the cobblestone walkways, looking up at the dark blue hue.

Lately, Huohuo has been getting too lost in her own memories. All sorts of moments dancing at the forefront of her brain, It's hard not to get lost. Meeting Mr. Tail, joining the Ten-Lord's Commission, defeating Cirrus, numerous things. A great majority of experiences were witnessed beneath this very sky dome, but it also made her wonder.

What other things has it seen?

Suddenly, there is a shifting of a bright light that Huohuo catches in her periphery. Curious, she turns her head to see Tail. The heliobi, now out of his tail form, now floats beside her on the bench. The sudden appearance totally catching her off guard because, usually, when she is 'in one of her little moods,' as he so eloquently puts it, he tries to make himself scarce, so to see him out was surprise in its self. Before she could ask the flame-like being anything, he pipes in first.

"There's no way that's-" Not taking his eyes off a certain point in the distance.

Huh?

The Foxian turns as well, following his eyeline, and froze. That's-that's the mysterious Swordsman's from that terrifying dream a while ago. What was he doing here on the Loufu?!

Huohuo pushes herself off the bench as she gives chase, hearing Mr. Tail calling after her to stop, but ignoring him to duck into the side-street that she saw the man enter into. Terrified. Not of him, for him. Knowing that if the Cloud Knights catch wind of him, it could spell disaster.

She runs up to the man, frantically keeping her eyes peeled while addressing the man. "What are you doing here?! If the Cloud Knights catch wind of you, you could get into some serious trouble!"

He needs to still his mind. The last thing he needed is it running circles around him.

Well. That is what he intends. The Luofu is a dangerous place. Of all the ships in Xianzhou, his memories were most crisp here and maybe that makes it a little less so. He finds himself tethered to the present.

Though the shadows Blade hopes to slip by unnoticed. The peripheral of his eyes catch a familiar green sight. Timid and kind far as he could tell.

He walks further into the alley and, unexpectedly, rushed footsteps follow him into it. Blade turns and stares blankly at her. From that dream? Is such a thing even possible?

It was the clarity of conscience — one burdened by unforgivable sin. But there were graver sins only she could punish, and so — it, too, was the clarity of justice. No, not justice, but vengeance.

Everything in the world around her seemed to vibrate with vividness and detail. The wind dancing against her skin. The dust shivering beneath her boots. The dead grasses crumbling against the edge of the fractured Shard Sword, held low beside her. Everything in the world seemed to call to her, to tell her — your quarry lies ahead; your prey awaits you. Her silent footsteps somehow grew even more silent, like memories being forgotten.

The song her conscience sang was a phrase. Of five people, three must pay a price. The song her vengeance sang was —

“You!” Jingliu's frigid, crystalline voice cascaded out from the darkest depths of her heart. Seeing @neverendingdeath's body curled up on the ground, corpse-like, she had become a wraith again, even with her newfound clarity. In the blink of an eye, the distance between them disappeared. A trail of ice carved into the dust behind her.

With her arms raised above her head, Jingliu held the crumbling Shard Sword above the man's — the monstrosity's seemingly limp form. In her mind, the anguished roar of the half-draconic abomination echoed as if it were still alive, pleading for its death.

Kill me. Kill me, please.

The man lay forgotten. He could not fault the world for that. He was beginning to forget himself as well. Soon enough, it would end, wouldn't it? Heat courses through his veins yet he has not the mind to move. He attempted to recall himself, recall anything, but there is nothing.

A chill at his back and a voice that was far yet near. Clear yet muddled. Comforting yet horrifically hostile.

You, she said. Who? He wanted to call back, ask in a joking tone, Have you forgotten my name too?

He should open his eyes but they feel as though they refuse the command.

In an instant, he finds that the hostility of before was not unfounded nor a bluff nor jest. That sword - one of his making for he knows the feeling of it's edge - pierces his skin, through muscle and bone and sinew.

Where blood is meant to pour, to spill forward or shoot up from the force with which she's stabbed him, there is nothing.

In fact, the pain from the blow at all dissipates the moment the skin is broken. No, did the skin ever break in the first place. He opens his eyes, it's the first time in a while but seeing the world makes none of it any clearer. He is greeted with blood red eyes he's certain he should recognition. Whether through the pain behind him or the fact that his heart hurts at the thought of that sword being in the hands of another - he calls out to her. Except his voice doesn't quite come out.

The man only looks up at her confused, hurt, frustrated. Why? His hand grabs hold of the sword. Did she kill him? That strike should have, he knows it, so why... why is he still here?

He attempts to plea, just a moment. Is it right of them to be this hasty with one another?

Story has it that, once upon a time, rebels from the City of Mondstadt organized and rose in rebellion against the tyrannical aristocracy. Forming an underground resistance, they were a thorn in the corrupt nobles' side for a long time - all while said nobles retaliated with brutality using their own henchmen.

Today, the history of those difficult and tragic times is preserved in the form of a traditional game. Several locations have been host to the fun and joy of Windtrace - this year, it's the mysterious Dragonspine's turn, causing some to dub the event "Snowtrace".

Young and old, experienced and newcomer, local and traveler - all who want to experience Mondstadt's history and tradition are welcome to join and participate.

---

Happy Windtrace season! Reblog to accept asks. Send with "reverse" to switch roles between sender and receiver.

---

[CHAT] sender (Rebel A) and receiver (Rebel B) casually chat while hiding. Surely nothing at all will go wrong and this will have no consequences whatsoever.

[HEAT] sender (Rebel A) and receiver (Rebel B) activate a heat source to warm up, discussing strategy, the moral choices that led someone to organize such an event in this frozen hell, and whatever else comes to their minds.

[ALERT] sender (Rebel A) warns receiver (Rebel B) about the approaching Hunter.

[DISGUISE] sender (Rebel A) and receiver (Rebel B) disguise themselves as objects together. Isn’t it kinda funny that you can just turn into a barrel?

-

[CAN’T SEE YOU] sender (Hunter) runs right past receiver (Rebel) disguised as an object, failing to recognize them.

[CAN SEE YOU] sender (Hunter) uses Hunter’s Intuition to mark receiver (Rebel) with a light pillar in order to find them. Uh-oh.

[DISPEL] sender (Hunter) dispels the oh so carefully planned disguise of receiver (Rebel). Rude.

[CHASE] sender (Hunter) chases receiver (Rebel) across the whole field to catch them. Haul those buttcheeks buddy!

-

[NOPE] sender (Rebel) uses Transparency to vanish right in front of receiver (Hunter)’s eyes. Results may vary.

[BAIT] sender (Rebel) leaves behind an illusory bait for receiver (Hunter) that, when triggered, throws a buncha snow in their face to blind them. Again, rude.

[GOTCHA] sender (Rebel) is caught by receiver (Hunter).

he could understand how despair could come so easily, in such a light. the hexafleet's battles were so rarely siege warfares——and even when they were, xianzhou had been the one on the offensive, able to pull in and out as the situation developed. to be on the other side, to know you were trapped without means of escape while the enemy just came and came and came. . . until days or weeks passed, maybe much longer than that. . .

he nurtured a new respect for the people of belobog. luka had carried something with him in each swing of those fists on the wardance stage that eclipsed all the training the cloud knights could offer.

the last of the horde of flying creatures has shrieked its dying call to the wind, giving him a brief reprieve to catch his breath, when the communication device at his hip crackles to life. it's the first time he's heard anything from it since the night has begun. "th. . . s kallen. more fragmentum have appeared in our block. more than one. is this happening anywhere else?"

kallen. which one was kallen. . .

"we haven't engaged yet, but we could use some assistance——"

a loud crackle, muffling what sounds like a shout. eyes widen. "kallen?!" he shouts into the mouthpiece held up to his face. only more crackling answers. sheathing his sword, he looks around urgently for long, dark hair, any sign of the fugitive. he responds without thinking, sharply as he starts to walk. "this is yanqing in block four. hold your position and take shelter away from the enemy. avoid drawing attention. if you're overwhelmed, retreat as soon as you can. we're coming to help!"

as soon as he lowers his arm, steps break into a brisk jog, head on a swivel. if only he could call out. . . where had that man gone??

Confidently, Blade would say no. Yanqing was old enough to call himself a lieutenant, if he can't handle himself, then the Xianzhou Luofu has far more to worry about than any spread of abundance or mara-stricken.

He looks around for more enemies, more targets to crack this unkempt blade against but no more come. Wind whips through the alleyways and carries along with it the scattered ashes of the fragmentum. No - wind hadn't been the only sound, he had simply been in a trance.

"Reinforcements?" Had they not pushed far enough forward to prevent that? His head turns sharply; the click of his tongue nearly making it sound as if he's cracked his neck. "Do you plan to fight or to save them?"

They're in a rush, he thinks he can be forgiven for the sprint he breaks into after posing the question. Regardless of the answer Yanqing gives, they have to get there first otherwise it wouldn't matter.

the power behind his strikes, even from a distance. . . heaviness sinks down to his feet, laden with a curdling sobriety colder than any eternal freeze. it's suddenly clear that their battle on dragonprayer terrace hadn't been anything serious for him.

while he had been giving his all.

shame digging like a thorn in his chest lifts when the monster——much more human-like than he'd expected, but if so, then he can think of them as similar to the mara-struck——suddenly goes into retreat, seemingly fleeing into the surrounding streets. "wait!" he calls, breaking into a run again before he loses sight of the pursuing swordsman completely.

running straight into a trap again? yanqing. . . whenever the general chastised him like this during training, it was usually gentle and with a note of humor that made him feel even more embarrassed than if he were just yelled at instead. it's what he hears now in place of the shriek of frigid wind shrieking and the pounding of his own footsteps, prompts him to raise his sword and call it to his aid. ice flurries amidst ice, and two ethereal blades volley out to cut the distance between here and there in a split-second, embedding themselves into the retreating monster's form just before it rounds a corner.

soundlessly, it falls, disintegrating into dust. and beyond it in the distance, blocked from sight by its outline until now, is exactly what he'd suspected. that isn't a line of rubble or ordinary shadows——it moves and scintillates, distends and takes shape.

there's no chance to call out again or consider orders. time slows down and speeds up all at once, and then the sea of fragmentum is upon them, a ripping, tearing swarm threatening to overwhelm and swallow him whole.

There's little time to think before they're overtaken. Blade hold not hope, but some expectation he sees must've been misplaced. With a click of his tongue and a momentary scowl, he takes hold of the back of Yanqing's collar before running into a wider part of the city block.

"How far you still have left." Of the swarm of crystalline pests that surround them, a few make their attack immediately, the rest seeming to bide time whilst their numbers grow in the thin alleyways.

What would be a quick job with little effort given is instead a job that drags along due to sheer volume and little else. From the side or from the back, a dive bomb overhead, regardless of their tactics, they're cut down all the same.

Yanqing shouldn't require the same level of protection as an untrained Silver Wolf, yet here Blade was, offering it nonetheless for reasons that would draw a sigh from him if he had the energy to offer for it. The last thing he needed was another body added to the dubious list of those who've met their end at his sword. Is this what the Luofu has to offer as its best?

Eventually all that's left of the swarm is a residual mist that settles just above the ground. If their task was to waste time... they certainly achieved it.

The momentary lull lets his eyes search until drawn to a crate filled with in tact swords. None compared... but one couldn't help but be curious of how quickly they'd dull or otherwise break.

"They are nothing like what you have." They are far cheaper, far more replaceable. "Use them or don't."

they work mostly in silence.

yanqing is fine with that——he's not sure he has much to say to the other anyway. but from time to time, he can feel his eyes on him, burning and heavy like iron shackles, waiting or maybe assessing with a hunger to them just like when they'd exchanged blows. once or twice, he almost thinks about turning around to ask whether he meant to try something on him while his back was turned, but bites his tongue and reins in his focus each time ; something tells him the other would like nothing more than to see his concentration falter.

as one hour turns to two, it becomes easier. what'd begun as sandpaper scraping wood wears down with time. eventually, he tells himself that this is jarilo-vi, not the xianzhou luofu, so it shouldn't matter what the man's status was and it's not like he had any right to pursue any course of action because of it. today, he was here to help just as much as anyone else——or so it appeared. it didn't mean he wouldn't keep an eye on him——the stellaron hunters were never up to anything good no matter where their footsteps fell——but the truth was that he had no other option but to work together with him for now.

and with that thought, he's able to commit himself with more single-minded purpose, expression rarely straying from its grave set as they cross from the first block to the third. if memory serves, the guard captain and that researcher? doctor? had set out in this direction, but he doesn't see them as they make their way through, sights on the gates to the districts beyond still overrun with monsters.

but as the saying goes, even though the man watches it all day long, the pot will never boil. but the instant he looks away. . .

"!!"

he's knee-deep in a wreckage of barrels and benches that'd been stacked up as a makeshift barricade, about to announce that he'd found some tarp and oil they could use, when the beat of rapid footsteps makes him turn.

the fugitive's back, disappearing toward the gates to the fourth block at a run.

"hey! you——"

He won't make the same mistake again.

The crunch of snow beneath his heel quickens as he runs past to pick his sword up from where it lay and quickly send a slash up and across the frost bitten fragmentum foe. In spite of where his focus should be, his eyes - hostility and expectation and all that toils behind them - rests on the young swordsman.

What is it he would show him this time? How sharply can his sword pierce through the enemy in front of him or are his strikes still just as predictable as before? This is not the time nor place for a rematch, not of the kind he would like to have.

No festival can occur so smoothly. No such prosperity can exist without a preceding tragedy or one that follows soon after. The memories of this festival will be colored by the outcome of their reconnaissance. It’s nearly enough to make him feel sorry for the organizers, but surely they knew better before inviting in such unsuspecting guests. That always is the case after all.

Those who could fight, whether through bravery, foolishness, or sheer curiosity, gather at camp. A rousing speech is made. May Qlipoth’s light guide us all. Where had that light guided Beloboog so far aside from right back to the problems it had before?

“Here on his orders, or testing your swords?” The answer matters not. He is here regardless and they have been given a task to handle. Blade, aloof as the man is, begins on his way before waiting for a response. Their actions in the end will be the same so why does it matter.

The other volunteers have set off and already begun fending off against the Fragmentum with little trouble. He looks to the iced over outskirts that seem as though once occupied. Blade takes a moment to sift through snow and ice alike and for his effort gains little more than cold hands. 

It’s not even worth the effort to scoff about it. Thoughts of how they might proceed, how best to handle the sudden situation poke at his mind, but curiosity holds faster. When he stands and starts to press on further, he does so with a mind more curious about his Cloud Knight companion’s actions than any grandeur that might be given by undertaking risky tasks as they were. 

The moment he could, he’d like to see how far his blade has come.

[15 minutes] BLADE & YANQING walk from Base Camp to Block One. Time left: 7 hrs 45 min [30 minutes] Salvage attempt. Roll: 6 = Fail. Time left: 7 hrs 15 min [15 minutes] BLADE & YANQING walk from Block One to Block Three. Time left: 7 hrs 00 min

eventually, he spots him: a mottled blot of brown shades surrounded by three of the event staff, one of them in medical white. the trotter, upright, looks like it's finally stopped its mad dash, surrounded by its own carnage of fallen poles and other trotters in various states of curiosity and distress.

". . . ory, mister aventurine."

"mm?" heel pivots again at his name reaching his ear, and he politely nods to the nameless with a smile. "lucky for me, it doesn't look like grand salami's sustained any injuries on its victory lap." and around the four of them, the others' trotters have one by one finished congregated too, sniffing for food, eager for affection. the stoneheart chuckles: "comparatively, all of your trotters are much better behaved. i'm not surprised——i can hardly take the credit for grand salami's win. he was named by his handler who presented him for the event," his body language is directed mostly at the burly blond by way of explanation, and apology. "after all, my job here is mostly to help promote the partnership, so i've only known him as long as the race has been going."

He cuts himself off with a shake of the head, already feeling as if he’s addressed a topic that he has no clear articulation for. He knows that Dan Heng does not mean the insult, and chooses to accept the matter as it is.

Regardless, he has only ever been outmatched by a handful…but this isn’t the same, is it? Honeycake – who had warped a few steps back in pure terror the instant Mydei began speaking – nudged closer once more, taking silence for weakness and a clear sign to search for more food. “Nevermind.”

It’s Aventurine that draws his attention. Some sort of political figure? An ambassador with far too much humility…as if they all hadn’t selected their trotters recently. Whatever he stood to gain from it was unclear, Mydei’s patience quickly wearing thin as he waited for the blonde to finish his statement. “…fine.” He replies after a moment, only for his trotter to jump several feet into the air, quivering in place the second its little feet hit the ground.

This was how it had been from the start, as if the creature could scent lifetimes of blood and strife etched into his soul. “If we are to be companions, I would understand her better.” Would they have time between races? Mydei hadn’t known how this contest would play out, committed to participating with only the basic information and separated from the other competing Chrysos Heirs that he’d expected to be by his side.

Bandages toddles over, anxious as ever the little thing still is. Blade tilts his head as and thinks bout it. Training. It wasn't like he had done much with it. Had that been the deciding factor?

"They don't seem like difficult creatures." Most things aren't. The Stellaron Hunter kneels and Bandages is grateful to flop into his arms as if he were a pillow. Taking advice from one who lost likely wasn't wise though.

“Hey.” He calls, though for all his voice carries with clear command, he is still certain that the cute creature can neither hear or understand him. “Move faster. You fall behind!” Does Honeycake even understand the meaning of competition? The answer is no, it merely holds firm to its chosen speed, trotting a rigid line as it trills a happy tune.

Were it a real comrade, Mydei would leap to its side, would take over.

Spectating isn’t an unfamiliar concept to him – and there were many grand arenas for just that, though the loss is a biting one. “You.” Perhaps he should know the winner’s name…as a courtesy, his gaze flickering to study the board where the winners are being flashed, blocking out the announcers as their voice boom overhead. Aventurine had already shown his knowledge of the event. Of Trotters themselves. Mydei places himself at his side, looking him over. "Aventurine. Well done." It’s said reluctantly – sore loser or otherwise, he would not deny a winner their dues. “You have superior knowledge of these trotters.”

Well, that's a potential problem to deal with for future Aventurine, not for him.

Mung Bean Soda stops briefly, as if startled as the other Trotters pass by it in a rush.

"Go on, you got this," Dan Heng calls out. After a moment of silence, he adds: "I believe in you."

As if encouraged by this vote of confidence, his companion suddenly perks up. Its little hind leg kicks up dirt once, twice, thrice -

Sprint! +5 Position, -2 Stamina

and then, it's off.

Leaving behind a cloud of dust, it sprints ahead of Blade's companion and runs now toe to toe with Mydei's. Dan Heng stands there for a moment in silence, before huffing quietly and turning to the demigod.

"Normally, Trotters are timid creatures, quick to flee - and capable of teleporting, which makes it all the easier for them to do so. The fact these are not doing that is actually... somewhat unnatural. Maybe they finally developed some ways of taming and training them... it was once thought to be impossible."

Though he supposes Miss Topaz had already proven that wrong.

At least the falling sheets make for a nice confetti.

Despite his chiming in, his eyes stay focused on Bandages. His own advice applied well enough to himself too as the small trotter cut it's way through the air until it could no longer stand.

Sprint! +5 positions, 0 Stamina left.

The moment it crosses the threshold of the finish line, it flops on the other side of it. There is temptation, however small, the go out and assist his chosen pet, but perhaps through sensing hesitation on only needing a literal moment's rest, the trotter squeaks back to life and looks over to him.

the smile he levels at each of the other gentlemen is almost wry as though he'd just made a joke.

"other than that, there's no special purpose. the trotters are popular, and a lot of people find them cute." the cacophony of squeaks and squeals filling the massive arena around them speaks for itself ; the stalls selling trotter-themed keepsakes and merchandise and the photo booths allowing photos and feeding with friendly trotters boast standing lines that don't seem to be getting any shorter.

grand salami sprints!　roll ,　5　|　position⠀5　stamina⠀3

in the midst of it all, when the trotter he's representing takes off in a squeaking blaze of starting glory and pulls clear ahead of its rivals, aventurine barely seems to notice, attention still on his opponents as though he's a spokesman more than a contestant.

Blade's eyes travel out to see where his little one has gotten and its... not far at all. Bandages tries to focus it's attention forwards but the look from its trainer seems to be doing it no favors. Blade hadn't much trained the poor thing.

On such short notice... it had been more pertinent to make sure the little thing stayed alive, preferably content while doing so. "If it goes well, the IPC won't leave well enough alone." Presumably.

Red eyes curtained by black hair look back at the other trainers, all far more invested than him. If this was to be a one off event, the victory would taste better for them. It's seems he and his trotter both have resigned to that. Or not-

The moment Blade lets out a sigh of finality, his trotter seemingly perks to life.

Sprint! +4 Position, 2 Stamina left

Grand Salami's display spurs on Bandages to at least attempt to keep up with the rest and squeaks, the likes of which Blade has never heard, come from the hard working racer.

Few would hear him admit out loud that Seal Slammers were kind of fun.

Some who know him well might perhaps note he was starting to remember - or perhaps, learn for the first time - what fun even was.

All that's to say that, when someone mistook him for a willing competitor and handed him a little... what Caelus would probably call "creechur", whatever that was supposed to mean - he, against his better judgment, did not correct the mistake.

And now, he and his newly found companion found themselves at the race. The atmosphere was all cheerful and lively, but thankfully - if only out of necessity - Dan Heng has in the recent times developed a slightly stronger social battery. He was more surprised how calmly the Trotters, normally skittish and concealed creatures, were handling the whole thing.

On the starting line, beside his Trotter - whom he called Mung Bean Soda, purely because he happened to be drinking it in that moment he was mistaken for a willing competitor - stood three others, accompanied by a curious assortment of handlers. Mr. Aventurine from the IPC, Mydei (how peculiar it felt, to see him here of all places), and...

Blade.

Now what the heck is he doing here.

Frozen in place by the sight, Dan Heng barely had a moment to give the others a nod in greeting before the signals were given. Mung Bean Soda turned to him; though its eyes could not be seen, he knew it was looking at him.

Smiling faintly, he nodded.

"Take it easy, buddy. Don't crash into anything."

Just looking at them inspired very little. Mydei’s arms cross over his chest as he studies unfamiliar opponents. “Be sure to bring your best,” A slow drawl, as if testing both for weaknesses, assured at least that if it were a contest of personal strength, he would be the unmatched winner, as it was. Then, his eyes track to Dan Heng, and the flame of familiarity curls his expression into something friendlier. “…either way, we will emerge victorious.”

The creatures are more skittish than reasonable. The handler had all but given up hope on any one of them taking to Mydei. Stop looking so threatening! She had demanded, when his very presence sent the wave of hopeful racers into flights of panic.

Weak… even now, his trotter trembled as he leaned down to offer pieces of honeycake - the only offering he could provide to keep the animal calm. “Stay focused,” Even now, he isn’t sure if Honeycake understands him, nosing at crumbs on the ground as Dan Heng’s trotter breaks the line first. “No matter the obstacle, do as I say and we will defeat them.”

It must be when he sees a familiar head amongst those racing. He recalls earlier, his own truce with Aventurine so causing trouble in the first place wasn't wise. Regardless of that, Dan Heng freezes, not too unexpected, but what happens next draws a curious hum from him. His trotter as a source of comfort?

The man scoffs softly and looks down to his own. His gaze gives little away and evidently confuses the little guy. When the signal goes, it is all he can do to scramble and catch up to the others.

Run! +1 Position, 4 Stamina left